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“Thank you, dear,” he says, his wrinkled face crinkling with a kind smile. “You always brighten my day.”
His kind words give me a flush of warmth. “That’s very sweet of you to say, Mr. Hawkins. You’re one of my favorite customers, you know.”
He chuckles, a twinkle in his eye. “Oh, I’m sure you say that to all the old fogies who come in here.”
“Only the charming ones.” I wink, and he laughs again.
As the bell chimes softly with Mr. Hawkins’ exit, I notice Sophie approaching from the corner of my eye. Her expression is pinched with worry, and a knot forms in my stomach.
“Polly,” she whispers, leaning in close. “The stand mixer...it’s officially dead. I tried everything, but it’s not budging. I havethree cakes to get started on today. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get them all started without the mixer.”
I press my fingers over the bridge of my nose as a surge of panic threatens to overwhelm me, but I force it down, maintaining my composure. It’s not like I didn’t know this day was coming—I just thought there would be more days until it did.
“Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath. “I’ll figure it out. I’ll stay late to finish the prep on those cakes if I need to. Can you handle the front for a bit?”
Sophie nods, her ponytail bobbing with the movement. “Of course.” She hesitates, then adds, “Everything will work out.”
I give her a grateful smile. “Thanks, Sophie. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
I retreat to my small office in the back of the bakery and the door closes behind me with a soft click. I take a deep breath and lean against the wood door, closing my eyes.You can do this, Polly. It’s not the end of the world.
Taking another deep breath, I open my eyes and pace my office as I start making phone calls. The first few are frustrating dead ends—mixers out of stock, prices way out of my budget. Finally, on the fourth call, I strike gold.
“Yes, we have one in stock,” the salesman says, his voice tinny through the phone’s speaker. “It’s a great model, perfect for a small bakery.”
Relief floods through me. “That’s fantastic. When can you deliver?”
There’s a pause, and my heart sinks before he even speaks. “Our deliveries are all booked for the next three weeks. I’m sorry,because I understand you need it sooner. It’s pick-up only. Is that something you can do?”
“I…” I hesitate. My ex would say this is the point where I throw in the towel and accept defeat. Fuck that and fuck him for not believing in me. I believe in myself. “I’ll make it work. You’re open until six, right?”
“That’s right, ma’am. I can hang around a little later if you need, just let me know before five, okay.”
I jot down the details and thank him, before ending the call. Slumping back in my chair, I run a hand through my hair, dislodging a few strands from my usually neat bun. My small car won’t be able to transport such heavy equipment. I’m stuck, and the frustration threatens to overwhelm me.
I head back to the front of the bakery. Sophie looks up as I approach, hope shining in her eyes.
“Any luck?” she asks, wiping her hands on her apron.
I nod, trying to inject some optimism into my voice. “I found one, but...they can’t deliver. Maybe your brother could help? With his truck?”
Sophie’s face falls. “Oh, Polly, I’m so sorry. He’s on that road trip to Wyoming, remember? He won’t be back for a few days.”
My heart sinks, though I try to keep a brave face. “Right, of course. I forgot about that. Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out.”
“I’m sure you will,” Sophie says, reaching out to squeeze my arm. “I have faith in you.”
I smile at Sophie, grateful for her confidence. “Thanks, Sophie. I’ve got this.”
She gives me a long look, her brow furrowed. “You know, it’s okay to ask for help sometimes. You don’t have to shoulder everything alone.”
Her words hit close to home, and a lump forms in my throat. “I know,” I say softly. “It’s just...I’ve worked so hard to do this on my own.”
Sophie’s expression softens. “Polly, this bakery is amazing, and it’s all because of you. You should ask the hunk who comes in every day. The one you save apple turnovers for.”
I watch as Sophie turns toward a new customer. “I’ll think about it.”
As closing time approaches, I find myself glancing more and more frequently at the door. The bell chimes with each new customer, but it’s never the one I’m hoping to see. I’m not even sure I’m comfortable asking Gabe for help. I sense that he’d immediately say yes, but a part of me balks at asking a man for help. If I want to do this on my own, shouldn’t I be able to handle everything alone?
